Cold Coffee
by BeThePiano
Summary: Matthew knows that her coffee will go cold, but he continues to make it. (Inspired by Imagine Your OTP. Person A continues to make Person B coffee every morning after they've died, even though they know it will go cold.) Fem!America/Canada. AmeCan. More hurt than comfort. One-shot


Cold Coffee

He hated black coffee, but loved the way it tasted on her lips. So that's why he made if for her every morning, just so he could have a taste of the unique flavour after she'd drank it from her favourite mug. That way, when he gave her a good morning kiss, he could have the taste on his lips well until lunchtime when he was at work. It was the small things like that that made him happy.

"_Mattie!" she shouted, giving him that million dollar smile she wore almost constantly, "It's right across the street! Please?"_

"_What is?" he questioned, trying not to look at the puppy dog face she was now giving him._

"_The ice cream truck!"_

_Matthew looked up from the wilting yellow flower he had absentmindedly plucked. Sure enough, a white truck with a painted on sundae and speakers on the roof playing the same old jewelry box tune on a loop was right across the road from the park the couple was in._

"_Please, please, please, please-"_

"_We can go get some ice cream, 'Melia, no need to get on your hands and knees," he chuckled, standing up and extending a hand to his girlfriend._

_He pulled her up when she took hold of him. She, in turn, pulled him in for a thank-you kiss. The lingering taste of the black coffee he had made her this morning was passed from her lips to his, making him blush a million shades of red._

"_Thank you, Matt," Amelia giggled, squeezing the hand that was still grasped tightly in hers._

"_Y-yeah, you're wel-welcome," Matthew stuttered in reply. Even after almost a year and a half of dating, and five months of living together with the boisterous blonde, he still couldn't get over her surprise coffee-tasting kisses._

"_Race ya!" she exclaimed suddenly, taking off way before her boyfriend could even register what she had so excitedly shouted._

_He normally wouldn't race her, because he liked to see the happy look that would grace her features when she "won." But now he was running like __her__ life depended on it. Which it did._

"_Amelia!" he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth, "Amelia, slow down!"_

_She was almost half way across the road when she yelled back, "Nu-uh! I'm gonna beat-"_

_Her words were abruptly cut off. All the air in Matthew's body had been stolen from him, it seemed; Like an invisible force had pounded into his chest with a mallet. His part of the world felt like it was moving in slow motion, his feet were concrete slabs. People near and around the park gasped or screamed. Cars in the street even pulled over and let their drivers out to see what had happened; What a speeding, texting silver Sedan driver had hit._

"_AMELIA!"_

_He was able to move again, breath again. And he used it to his advantage, racing towards the road and skidding to his knees on the asphalt, skinning his knees, but the pain was numb. The pain in his knees matched the feeling he felt when he saw her._

_Sirens began to wail in the distance, but Matthew could hardly hear them. He could hardly hear the police and paramedics shout for him to get to the side. His nerves only tingled slightly when a man in uniform dragged him away from the scene. He was in a state of complete shock. One minute, she was alive and fine, the next, she was just another number on the body count of city records. But that couldn't be true at all! She was Amelia Jones, the girl who would be the hero when no one else could take the job. Amelia Jones, the young woman who would cheer you up without using the most cliché saying, "It will get better!" She was Amelia Jones, the girl who loved him back. Amelia Jones, the girl who had given him the most excitable life he could ever had imagined. Amelia Jones, the girl who gave him the coffee-flavoured kisses he so dearly loved._

_And in the blink of an eye, she was gone. She was gone and she was never coming back._

Matthew slammed his hand down on the annoying, ear-drum bursting alarm clock that sat on his nightstand. He swung his long, gangly legs off the edge of the bed, wiggling his toes when they hit the cold hardwood flooring of the bedroom. His glasses were sitting on the dresser beside her silver dog tags. Putting them on, he yawned and stretched his still groggy limbs. The sleepy headed blonde walked into the kitchen and opened the pantry, pulling out a can of crushed coffee beans and a tea bag for him. He made his own tea, and drank it every once in a while as he took the steps into making coffee. Black coffee.

Even though he knew it would go cold sooner or later.


End file.
